Win A Million Dollars!
by DaniPhantomFan
Summary: This is a story I wrote, so please enjoy. And if anyone would like me to continue the story, just say so. Sorry about the title, too. I am terrible at coming up with title names.


"This is the story of my life," I said, glancing around the audience. Just a month before, I had received a letter saying that I had been handpicked to go on a very famous TV show, and write a speech on whatever topic the host decided.

This year, it was the story of your family and you're past. I hated talking in public about my past, but because they offered a million dollars to the person who had the most heartbreaking story, I figured I should go. Maybe I'll win a million dollars and stop having to work twenty-four hours a day, with little money.

"I was born on December 12th in 1993," I continued, squeezing my eyes shut just for a brief minute, and then opening them again. "From birth until I was twelve years old, I had to live under a _very _strict set of rules. I could not show myself to anyone, disagree with my father, and I was not allowed to _ever _ run away, break stuff-whether on purpose or by accident-talk back to my father, attempt to commit suicide, watch television, read books and I had to wear the stiffest of uniforms."

Some people in the audience gasped and began to murmur among each other. I took this as a good sign that people were already feeling horrified. So, I went on eagerly. "But one day I _did _run away, because I just could not stand to live under all those rules. I'm guessing my father had about 130 rules, and I could not break _any _of them, or I would be severely punished."

The host chose that moment to ask, "What kind of punishments would your father threaten you with if you dared to break his rules?" I could tell by the host's tone that he expected some lame response, like, 'Oh, my father put me in the corner,' or 'my father beat me'.

Instead, I said, "He would threaten to strangle me, toss me out a very high window, tie me to a railroad track, or electrocute me. And those were only saved for the worst of the rule-breaking. The mostly okay ones were: being thrown out on the street, chopping my hands off, and/or starving me to death."

Stunned silence everywhere, and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to run backstage and hide-forever. Finally someone raised their hand and asked, "Why didn't you run away sooner?" Of course, I had a quick response for this.

"As a child, I had no clue about the world-how cruel it really is. To me, my father and his rules and his punishments were cruel enough. But as I got older, I began to realize that I could think for myself, that I couldn't allow my father to keep me in fear all my life."

Several people in the audience raised their hands, and I was instantly overwhelmed. I started panicking about how to answer all of their questions, when a solution came to me suddenly. I smiled, knowing that I was full of confidence now.

I pointed to the girl in the second row, and she grinned in excitement. The girl said, "How old are you now?" This left me wondering-how old _was _I? I mean, I thought I was seventeen, but the last time I checked I was fourteen. Or maybe I'm still twelve. My father never told me my age, and I could only guess whenever I look at a calendar.

Answering honestly, I replied, "I'm actually not sure, because my father never told me how old I was. The only clue about my age is the first-and last-time my father celebrated my birthday. I think I was five at the time, and my father must've been really, really drunk because he absolutely _hates _fun. He thinks fun is the work of the Devil."

What I just said made everyone look horrified. The host asked, "What did you do _after _you ran away?" I looked the host straight in the eye and responded with, "I joined the circus for nine months, and learned to walk on my hands, to have an extremely good sense of balance and to tame tigers and bears."

Then I pointed at a young man who clearly was dying to ask me something. He cleared his throat a few times and asked, "Did you enjoy the circus? And, if possible, could you show me something you learned from the circus?"

I nodded, and stepped away from the microphone. I did a back flip, and then did a half-cartwheel ending with me holding myself up with just one hand. I planted my feet firmly on the stage, and grabbed the microphone, desperate to finish the story.

"Eventually, I quit the circus, because I found myself being smothered in too many demands, just like my father. I traveled around L.A. for a few months, experiencing for the first time what it was like to be homeless. I stole my first couple of nights living on the streets, and pick pocketed people."

Two more people raised their hands, and I pointed to the blond teenager, who said, "Did you have to ever kill anyone?" It almost sounded as if they were jealous, when they asked that question. I pursed my lips and looked down, thinking.

Finally I glanced back up and shook my head, resulting in a very loud moan from the audience. Then I said, "Eventually I was caught by social services and they put me in the foster care system, which is absolute hell. Some of the people were nice, but others were even worse than my father."

"Most of the people beat me, took my clothes off and forced me to walk around naked, once for two days straight…and they thought it was funny. One couple, who, I swear, were the meanest minds to ever set foot on this planet, signed me up for school, but they held me back every single day and forced me to entertain them. I had to call the cops on them after they ripped my pants off and tried to rape me."

Everyone gasped at that, and they looked absolutely disgusted and horrified. One young boy raised his hand and asked, in a curious tone, "Did dose cops move ya out of dere?" I nodded, and the little boy smiled, slipping back into his seat.

The host interrupted the questions by leaning into my face and asking, "Did you ever find a true love? Are you happy now? Did someone that was good and kind adopt you and take care of you?" I pushed his face away from mine and stared at him.

I held up my hand and began to count down the questions on my fingers. "No, I am not in love with anyone. Yes, I am somewhat happy, in those _extremely _rare moments when I get a day off of work. And…no, no one bothered to look at me and find me so hopeless and helpless that they adopted me."

Someone in the audience asked, "You still work?" I glanced at them and nodded, saying, "Yes, I still work. I live in an alleyway, where I get up often before midnight and work for the next twenty-four hours picking up litter, cleaning café tables and washing windows. I hardly get paid, maybe two dollars an hour if I'm lucky enough to be working on a day when my 'boss' is feeling generous."

I continued on, "It makes me so mad when I hear those finely dressed people standing on the sidewalk complaining about how they have to go and sit in an office for the next four or five hours. Yet, I bet they get a huge amount of money, and they have a nice home to go to instead of an alley, where there's no bed at all, and I have to sleep on the hard cement."

"They think their jobs are hard work, but try comparing that to getting up at midnight and working for the next twenty-four hours, then going home and only getting sleep for an hour, maybe two hours if I am lucky. I bet those businessmen sleep in and get up at six, while I'm working so hard just to get hardly any money at all."

A clapping noise made me look over at the host, who was smiling proudly. The host stood up and shook my hand, congratulating me. He said, "Well, that was an excellent story, Miss…" I tightened my grip on his hand and replied, "Geneva Masters."

The host looked surprised, and glanced at the audience, then back at me. "I have a friend named Freddie Masters, so I'm used to that name. Still, Masters _is _an uncommon last name." I just nodded, before letting go of the host's hand.

Returning to his seat, the host looked toward the audience and asked, "And now, it's time to pick the winner!" Two people walked onstage, smiling and waving at the audience. The host said, "Alan Howard, Mimi James and Geneva Masters, please come forth."

We did so, waving the whole time. The host walked behind Alan and pointed his finger above the guest's head. The audience pointed their thumbs down, some booing at Mr. Howard. The host then moved to Miss James, and the audience pointed down, but I did catch some people pointing up.

Then the host walked behind me, and the audience was silent. I was just starting to think that maybe I should run, when a few people pointed down. Then another person pointed up, and ten more people pointed up. The host, grinning, returned to his seat.

"How many people voted NO for Alan Howard?" the host asked, and twenty people raised their hands. The host cleared his throat and said, "How many people voted YES for Alan Howard?" One person raised their hand. "How many people voted NO for Mimi James?" Seven people raised their hands.

"And…how many people voted YES for Mimi James?" Three people raised their hands, and the host was silent for a very uncomfortable minute. Then he said, "How many people voted NO for Geneva Masters?" Two people raised their hands.

"Last but not least, how many people voted YES for Geneva Masters?" Almost the entire audience raised their hands and cheered. Mimi and Alan looked at me in outrage, but were forced to leave the stage as the host walked over to me, holding a silver medal.

He placed it around my neck and raised my arm in the air, yelling to the audience, "Geneva Masters win the million dollars for telling the most…ah, _twisted _family story!" The audience cheered even louder, and my eyes went wide.

I couldn't believe it. I won the million dollars, just like I said I would before the show. The host gave me a little push toward the microphone and mouthed, "Say a little something before the show ends." So I gathered up my courage and held the microphone in my hands, tightly.

"T-thank you all for voting yes for me, it means everything to me. I went on this show because I felt I had to do it, even when everyone told me I'd never win. At first, I felt really discouraged, but then someone told me, 'Don't feel guilty or ashamed every time someone doesn't believe in you, the _real _you. Everyone has something different that makes them unique, and that's why no one can be perfect.'"

The audience cheered, and for the first time in a long time, I smiled. The host walked up next to me and clasped my hand firmly. Then the lights shut off, and everyone walked backstage, where Mr. Howard and Miss James were waiting.

They had their arms crossed and a glare on their face. I stopped right in front of them and asked, "What's wrong with you two?" Mimi just grabbed my arm and turned me so I was facing the stage again, before shoving me into a box full of costumes.

The two adults stood over me, fierce expressions showing me just how angry and upset they were. Mr. Howard said menacingly, "Imagine this…an idiot winning a million dollars. I must say, that story you told sounded pretty real. But you made all of it up, I know. So don't try lying, saying that it is true, because it isn't."

Mr. Howard leaned into my face and then spit, right in my eye. He looked at Miss James in satisfaction, and they walked off. At that moment, I felt like I should just give up. I sat there in the box, crying my heart out for what seemed like forever.

Eventually I heard footsteps come into the room and a light turned on. I looked up slowly, to see the host standing over with me with a confused expression. I grabbed his arm and threw myself into his chest, still sobbing. He pulled me away after a few minutes, staring hard at me.

Between sobs, I told him what happened. The host shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Those cowards…" he looked me in the eye. "Miss Masters, there are some people in life who will always be there for you, even complete strangers. They just look at you and feel an instant connection. But there are others who have nothing inside of them except years of bitter, hateful feelings and when something doesn't go _their _way, they'll hurt anyone who looks weak."

"But I'm not weak," I protested softly, and he shook his head. "I believe you," he said, "but you've got to keep your head up and look people in the eye. You've got to keep a calm voice and think logically, Miss Masters." I sighed.

I said, after a long moment of silence, "All my life I've believed that I'll never amount to anything. I want to be a famous actress one day, but people always told me that I'm not smart enough to pass a kindergarten entrance test."

The host pursed his lips, and then said, "Miss Masters, you will get to live out your dream someday, I promise. Just remember, there is nothing that you can't do if you just work hard and keep an open mind." Looking down, I replied, "Yeah...but you kind of lose faith in that saying when you've been working hard for two years straight and it gets you nowhere."

After a minute, the host said, "I've got an idea, Miss Masters. Why don't you come live with me? Just until you get a good-paying job and rent your own apartment. And, of course, get a decent education. The education _these _days is just horrible. All the way through high school, life is just a living hell. I think you should just skip straight to college, where people actually know what they want to do and are serious about it."

I brightened up, saying, "You mean it?" This was even better than winning the million dollars. He nodded, and I leaped into his arms, tears falling down my face. The host laughed and pushed me off him, dusting his coat off. "Thank you, Mr. Host," I said.

"Please, just call me Dave," he replied, still dusting his coat off. But I didn't care; I was too filled up with joy. Finally, things were going the way I wanted them too. Maybe that saying about hard work was true.


End file.
